August 12, 2012

That year, we moved into a dollhouse. We didn’t shrink, no, of course not. We just moved into a house where the back wall was made of glass, where everyone could see us move woodenly through our days. I made French toast in the kitchen while our daughter played ball with the dog in the playroom. We’d never had a playroom in any other house, but here, we did. He acted as if he were trapped in the living room, a newspaper on his lap, staring plastically into space as the world outside peered in.

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